Gilrean's death
by Maethoriell
Summary: One-Shot. While Aragorn is serving Gondor as Thorongil, his mother, Gilrean, dies an elf brings the news from Rivendell.


I own nothing minus Celon who is the product of my own imagination but his species does belong to JRR Tolkien as does everything else in the ficlet

This is my first fic so please bare with me ~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~ Gilrean's Death

The elf briskly walked the streets of Minas Tirith ignoring the stares he was attracting, a rainfall of whispers surrounded him, it was quite annoying since he, with his superior elven hearing he could understand all they said...

-...An elf...

-... What business in...

Since none of the guards of the Citadel had dared approach him he was quite surprised when the guards to the steward's palace mustered the courage to stop him:

-H-halt, The edain stuttered, you cannot enter lord Ecthelion is occupied; if you wait he will see you...

-Then maybe you would tell me where I might find Thorongil, the men of Rohan informed me that he came to Gondor.

-Umm. He's meeting with the steward right now, the man decidedly looked uncomfortable at his words.

- I see and when will he be done, or should I ask where are his quarters that I may wait for him there.

And so he was directed towards the Numenorean's "home" with the guards promise to inform "Thorongil" of his coming.

He was astonished to see that Aragorn's flat wasn't as messy as he assumed it would be, considering the fact that Elladen and Elrohir were his foster brothers. As he heard the door open, he turned with a smile on his face. A man with dark hair accompanied Estel, it was nearly black, and since his clothing was of a finer garb so he assumed he was of higher class.

-I see you have made a habit of befriending nobles, he said smirking.

-Celon! What are you doing here? Strider seemed to be somewhat annoyed under a joyful cover, the guards said an elf was asking for me but I didn't believe them.

-I have news that are best said in private Thorongil...

-I do not have time.

-This is important Estel.

-No Celon this is, the Southrons are attacking closer and closer to Gondor's borders and I have finally convinced Ecthelion to give us the troops to counter attack.

-This is not your fight Estel...

-Umm... I think I'll just leave since this doesn't concern me, the forgotten man said.

Both Aragorn and Celon turned to face the aforementioned man who was looking slightly sheepish.

-Thorongil, have you forgotten the manners your father worked so hard at teaching you?

-My brothers helped me unlearn them, was his response but then he saw Celon's glare and rectified.

-This is Denethor son of Ecthelion steward of Gondor. Denethor, Celon of Rivendell. If you don't mind, I believe this elf won't leave me in peace until you leave so please wait for me in the armory.

And so once he had left Aragorn turned to Celon with a fierce glare on his face

-What do you think you are doing coming here to Minas Tirith? He hissed in Sindarin.

-I have news from Rivendell.

-Well what is it? I don't have that much time.

-Your mother has passed into shadow.

-What! You lie!

-It is the truth Estel. Aragorn's face had become ashen and he had closed his eyes as if hoping that when he would open them the elf would be gone.

-This will be the last time I serve Gonder under the name Thorongil.

A few days later Thorongil was sitting in his tent staring into space. The previous night they had destroyed a corsair fleet and had managed to push the Southrons back behind their own borders, today he would leave the country he would leave the troops behind and put them under Denethor's charge; he would take the Anduin and let the name Thorongil captain of Gondor drown. The flap of the tent opened and Denethor entered.

-We are ready to head for Minas Tirith, Thorongil, Aragorn looked up and smiled sadly.

-I am not coming; the contingent is under your command.

-What! You have to come! It's that elf is it not? Ever since he came you have been acting strangely.

-Do not blame Celon, he was merely a messenger. Strider said defending his old friend.

-Then what news did he bring, that makes you so distant?

-My mother is dead, was the blunt response.

-I am sorry I didn't mean to be careless, the younger man said seemingly ashamed.

-It is not your fault; it was of old age. Her death merely reminded me of how long I have been away. Never again shall I use the name Thorongil.

And he held that promise.

FINIS


End file.
